


A Crisis in Your Eyes

by Demenior



Series: Uliro Week [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, References to Medical Horror, References to Torture, Sentient Voltron Lions, Shiro (Voltron)'s Missing Year, Ulaz's History, arguably - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 03:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11096244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demenior/pseuds/Demenior
Summary: Ulaz is quiet a moment, nothing to say in his own defense, “Shiro,” he says, voice low and even like he’s the rational one here, “you said you forgave me.”With a past as awful and muddy as theirs, forgiveness means a clean slate for them. They had to agree that to forgive each other it meant they had to let it go.“I forgave you working under orders,” Shiro growls, “because I never thought you were capable of being a monster.”





	A Crisis in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 4 of Uliro Week: Sick/Healing
> 
> Title from Hoodoo by Muse. Listen to it while reading, if you'd like.

Going on missions with Ulaz is fun. Normally the team doesn’t split into groups of any less than three, but for a simple ‘find the target, get the information, head home’, Shiro had been happy to sign himself and Ulaz up for it. They hadn’t gone out on their own in a while anyways, so it’s practically a date. Ulaz didn’t even get a choice in the matter. He had just caught up with them after being away on a mission for the Marmora, and Shiro pulled him from one hangar to the next, and then they were off.

Maybe they’d stopped for a few indulgent kisses along the way, but those weren’t important details. They’re still making great time.

The planet is mostly barren. It’s apparently a dumping ground for the Empire, where they store all of their trash. Lots of looters and scavengers come through here, and the Empire doesn’t pay close attention to it.

The village lights are glowing in the distance, built between mounds of trash. Shiro sets the Black Lion down in the forest, hidden from enemy eyes just in case. The trees are less trees and more spongy, strange textures that make Shiro think they're more fungal than floral. Which makes sense as they're in an actual garbage dump. Of course only mushrooms would grow here.

Now he and Ulaz get to stroll in and be greeted by the locals who no doubt saw them land.

There’s a good enough atmosphere that Shiro doesn't need to use stored oxygen. On the wrong breeze the stench of the garbage hits them and makes Shiro gag. But overall it's pleasant.

Ulaz is dressed in full armor, as is Shiro, since they’re working. But he even has his hood and mask up.

Shiro reaches out to take Ulaz’s large hand in his own.

Ulaz looks down to their hands and then at Shiro. Because his mask is up, Shiro can only imagine the quirk of his brows in a silent question.

“We’re on a date,” Shiro says, smiling, “you don’t need your mask. This is a pretty low-level mission.”

Ulaz stops walking, Shiro takes another light step before stopping, and spinning on the balls of his feet so he’s standing just in front. Ulaz reaches up to pull his hood off, and disengages his mask. Shiro loves the way his ears pop out from being squished against his head.

“Regardless of the ‘level’ of the mission, we shouldn’t let our guard down,” Ulaz advises him.

He likes to get a little sanctimonious when Shiro acts like a lovestruck fool. Mostly because Shiro showing affection makes Ulaz flustered and when Ulaz gets embarrassed he tries to act stoic to cover it up. It’s adorable.

“This isn’t even an Empire planet, really,” Shiro tugs on Ulaz’s hand, making Ulaz take the small step to join him so they’re standing toe to toe, “and it’s our first night alone, off-ship, in a long time.”

“In theory we won’t need to spend the night,” Ulaz says, “if we stick to the mission we should be able to return to the Castle by day cycle.”

“Or,” Shiro corrects him, “we camp on this nice, warm planet. You be my rugged, outdoorsy wild-man, we build a fire, and have sex under real stars.”

Ulaz’s ears twitch in surprise and he stands up straight, “I don’t think you’re taking this mission seriously,” he scoffs.

Shiro laughs, and reaches up to tug on Ulaz’s collar to pull him down enough for Shiro to kiss him.

“Just have fun. We’ll finish the mission, send coordinates, and then we take some time for ourselves.”

Ulaz acts like it’s a chore to let Shiro kiss him, but he knocks their foreheads together afterwards which is a very affectionate Galra gesture.

“If you wish,” Ulaz says. He sounds like it’s the last thing he wants to do, but when they start walking again he doesn’t let go of Shiro’s hand.

 

* * *

 

Getting to the village is fine. Ulaz gets more nervous about being too casual as they get closer, so he's pulls his hood up and puts his mask back on. Shiro teasess him about being paranoid, but he really isn't one to talk. Ulaz’s skepticism has saved his life many times before.

For all of Shiro’s playfulness, he isn’t an idiot and knows to put on his professional face for dealing with the locals. The locals had requested help, on an old frequency that maybe only the ancient Castle of Lions is listening to.

Doesn’t mean they are friendly or have any other ulterior motive.

But these people here all have one very important thing in common: they are all escapees of the Galra prisons. Refugees unable to return home, or have no home to go to. They either can’t or won’t join the rebellion, and so they have started amassing here on this outskirt planet.

It’s a heartwarming tale, in a heartbreaking way. Shiro briefly wonders if anyone here will know his face.

They are greeted with a small welcoming party of aliens covered in scars and mutilations. The excitement only grows when Shiro confirms that _yes_ he used to be Champion, and _yes_ he is the Black Paladin.

The thought of redemption for the things done to survive goes a long ways for hope.

“I’m Shiro, and this is my companion,” Shiro looks to Ulaz, to let him introduce himself.

Ulaz still doesn’t retract his mask. He’s standing very stiff.

“I'm Antok,” he says gruffly.

Shiro tries not to show his surprise. Ulaz is _very_ wary of these people. Because he’s a Galra? What is he noticing that Shiro isn’t? Shiro’s gut is telling him that these people are sincere. A little worse for wear, yes. Many of them are amputees or have brutal scars implying traumatic experiments or perhaps Haggar’s attention, but they all seem genuine to him.

“‘I’m afraid we can’t stay long,” Shiro explains, trying to figure out what dangers Ulaz sees, “we are needed elsewhere, so we have to move quickly. Who called for us?”

Shiro wishes he could put his helmet back on. He’s not sure if his respirator could block the smell of the trash heap, though. It’s everywhere, seeping into everything. He wants to throw up, and is only keeping it together because Ulaz has him on edge now.

“We all did,” one of the greeters says. She’s an Arusian whose skull must have been opened at some point— there's scar tissue where one of her horns and her eye should be, “we want Voltron to help us get medicine. And we can tell Voltron about the Galra ships— many of us escaped from the prisons. We know the way in. We know their routines and how to save others!”

Shiro and Ulaz are led into the village, past the slum housing and architecture that holds together with pure luck and hope rather than skill and craft. Villagers are scurrying everywhere— many limping on misshapen limbs that were broken and healed poorly, or are severely deformed with scars as to imply invasive surgery gone horribly wrong. Or, Shiro reflects, thinking of the Galra and their disregard for other living things, possibly those were surgeries gone horribly right.

Most of the villagers wear tattered remains of the Galra prison uniforms, or something poorly put together. There are children, covered in scars Shiro realizes with nausea in his gut, so many children that bear the scars of imprisonment. Many of them are just naked, and laughing despite what they must have endured.

Shiro feels happy for that, but this place is so dirty and reeks so badly that it’s hard to think of this as a promised land for all the discarded subjects the Galra didn’t care to look for.

They’re brought into what must be a communal gathering space, fashioned out from the shell of a spacecraft and under a mound of trash. Both Shiro and Ulaz have to duck to enter. It’s dark, but there’s a fire burning that gives off enough light, and the villagers have made work of discarded lights and flashlights, rigging them up to provide some form of reliable visibility.

There are more villagers gathered here— old and crippled, most of them. As Shiro, crouching in the small space and he can’t turn his head enough to see how Ulaz is doing, gets closer, he realizes that most of the aliens in here aren’t old, but severely deformed from surgery, and unable to move without assistance. Shiro and Ulaz take a seat around the fire.

Ulaz has his blade casually resting in his lap. The pommel must have been scraping on the low roof, but now it’s also it in easy reach. Shiro’s not happy about the tight quarters either, but his arm is a close-range weapon anyways. He does have an advantage here.

It seems like all of the villagers are gathering in. They keep crawling and limping through the entrance and gathering in the hall, forming a crowd around the fire, and subsequently around Shiro and Ulaz.

Plates of food are being passed around. It smells vaguely meat-like, but the smell of the planet and his rampant paranoia has dulled Shiro's appetite. He waves away a platter with a smile, and watches as all of the locals say some sort of prayer or thanks, and then eat.

They’re all staring at him and Ulaz, and there’s excited whispering filling the space. Ulaz’s unease is making Shiro nearly sick with tension. He wants to get out of here and back to the Black Lion as soon as possible. Maybe tonight won’t be a good night to camp on the ground. The safety of their room, with Ulaz in bed with him, is what Shiro focuses on returning to. Quickly.

“I was told you were willing to share information,” Shiro says, “as a representative for Voltron, I can assure you that we want to help everyone who has been hurt by Zarkon and his Empire. So I’d like to hear how most of you escaped— did you have help on the inside? Someone we can contact?”

There's excited chattering, and then one of the aliens around the fire speaks up. It's a Gedd, and of its two feet, the smaller one has been replaced with an arm from another species. Shiro can't see the grafting point, but the arm-leg looks weak and withered. It must not be healing well. Or at all.

“We escaped the only way there is— we died.”

“Died,” Shiro repeats, and wonders if his translator is malfunctioning.

“We died under Galra hands, and were thrown away, only to awaken in paradise,” another alien says.

Oh. Shiro pieces together the information.

“They threw you out… they dispose of bodies here?” He realizes.

“The Rebirth,” the Gedd confirms, “it's where we find more, to bring back to life. Why we need the medicine, to make us strong again.”

“Wouldn't you want to leave here?” Shiro points out. It's probably an insult, to say that they shouldn't want to live where they've painstakingly made a new life after the horrors of the Galra prisons, but he can't help himself.

“Wouldn't you want to leave instead of get medicine?” He continues.

“We have everything we need, here,” another alien says, “we are provided for!”

The plate of meat makes another round. Shiro takes another look at it. There's so much he doesn't recognize, which only makes sense. Everything in space is still so new to him. But trash scraps shouldn't be so plentiful and so fresh.

“We are safe here,” another says, “the Empire will never come for the dead!”

“We waste not, we want not,” someone says, and it echoes through the crowd. It must be a mantra.

“We need medicine so more can survive the Rebirth,” the Gedd says, “less experiments come, less infections from the start, but returning from death is still a difficult road.”

Shiro nods slowly. One outside voice can't change a community. He'll give them what they want, even if it's not  what they need.

“All of you were pronounced dead, and wound up here because you were in the garbage the Galra dump here?” Shiro confirms. There's many sounds of agreement.

“But how did _you_ escape?” The Arusian girl with the damaged skull asks, “Champion did not die. You were never discarded.”

The flutter of Shiro's affection for Ulaz burns bright in his chest. He smiles and glances at Ulaz. The mask gives away nothing of Ulaz's thoughts, but Shiro's pretty sure he's smiling right back.

“I was taken to a doctor, named Ulaz-”

Shiro's cut off by a gasp that ripples through the villagers so sharply it sounds like the air has been sucked from the room. He stops talking and very carefully does not look at Ulaz. In his peripheral he can see Ulaz’s hand is casually on the pommel of his blade. He's prepared for battle.

Shiro and Ulaz have a complicated past. That's not a secret. Ulaz was a spy, sent to make his way into Galra High Council to gather information. He only attended to Shiro briefly before freeing him.

Shiro was a ruthless killer— Ulaz never had time or interest for blood sports, but he knew of Shiro's reputation. They've mutually agreed not to speak of their times within the Empire in any great detail, knowing that they were both forced to do terrible things to survive. They accept and forgive each other for that. It isn't a taboo subject by any means, but they like to focus on their future together instead.

Shiro's very wary, and prepared for what he knows of Ulaz’s time in the Empire, when he asks, “What’s the matter?”

Shiro hears whispers of ‘Torturer’, ‘Death’, and ‘Evil’ as the translator struggles to define the nervous chatter. Some aliens have started crying in fear.

“You survived the Butcher?” The Arusian asks, awed. The translator finally settles on the most accurate summation of all of the expressions the aliens have for Ulaz.

“That is… uncommon?” Shiro surmises. Ulaz told him he had always worked to ensure survival of his patients. That he was specially chosen by Haggar for his skill, which had led to the two of them meeting.

“The Butcher killed most of us,” the Gedd with the withering limb attachment says.

Shiro's mouth is dry, but he feels icy calm. Ulaz is sitting perfectly still, looking straight ahead.

Ulaz pronounced most of these villagers dead. Had them sent to trash to be dumped on this planet in mass graves.

Which means that most of these aliens were on Ulaz’s operating table when they died.

Shiro looks at the Arusian whose horn was removed and her skull cut back so much that she'd lost her eye. At the child who walks on three legs because the fourth is clearly missing bones to support its own weight. At the Gedd, who has a limb replacement that must be purely experimental—

Haggar loved her sick experiments. She must have ordered Ulaz to do this. Forced him to do these awful things and torture these aliens to their apparent death. Maybe Ulaz knew they could live here, that if he brought them close enough to the edge he could help them escape. He had to be saving them. He was forced to do this.

But the fact that Ulaz is capable of this…

“I see,” Shiro chokes out.

His hands are shaking.

“I fear the atmosphere is negatively affecting Shiro,” Ulaz cuts in, “we must return to our ship. We will be in contact with you.”

Shiro feels the tug of Ulaz’s large hand curling around his upper arm, drawing him upright. He doesn't know what to say.

Ulaz mutilated everyone in this room. He is the boogeyman who killed them, who was still at large. The face of their nightmares.

Shiro's almost scrambling by the time he gets out of the short meeting place. He stands up, tries to take a breath to calm down but out in the open all he can smell is rot and garbage. He can't breathe. He doesn't look at Ulaz, doesn't wait for a guide. Shiro starts to run.

He can see the trees in the distance, where the Black Lion is safely hidden. He needs to get to his Lion and it's air purification system.

He runs past startled villagers, all covered in filth and rags. He sees a cart piled high with dead bodies, being taken into town to be stripped of clothing and cut into the food that sustains the people here. He sees the aliens sorting through trash, looking for useful supplies to keep themselves alive: half-used rations, nearly empty needles of medicines. Expired food that may still be salvageable. More bodies mixed in with the recycling and the waste.

And in all of them Shiro spots more surgical scars, more marks of scalpels and clamps and scissors and long surgeries spent screaming until their bodies were so weak with exhaustion that they were on the verge of death.

All because of Ulaz.

Haggar forced him to do it. Haggar held the proverbial knife to Ulaz’s throat, forced him to do these awful things.

Ulaz, who touches Shiro with such reverence Shiro sometimes wonders if he's being worshipped, had removed all but one of the fingers on each of the five hands of the Auli’ti Shiro saw struggling to carry supplies. Ulaz had removed the eyes on the old Na, or Shiro hoped he had, because the Na’s eyes had been melted closed. Ulaz left the long white scar across the dark belly of the Skrit, speaking to even more horrors that she must have endured.

Shiro breaks free of the last fringes of trash heaps, and doubles over as he vomits.

He throws up until he's crying, eyes watering freely and his throat and nose burn. Ulaz’s toes appear in his peripherals before he feels a soft touch to his back.

“Are you well enough to walk?” Ulaz asks, “there are medicines and provisions on your Lion. Movement will do you well.”

Shiro wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stands straight.

“Is it true?” He asks.

Ulaz is still wearing his mask. Shiro can't read his expression.

“Take it off,” Shiro demands.

Ulaz looks over his shoulder towards the village behind them, “It would be unwise right now.”

That's as good as a yes.

Shiro shrugs away from Ulaz’s touch and starts walking. Ulaz falls into step with him.

“I had no idea there was a surviving community here,” Ulaz comments, “I would not have recommended myself had I known the circumstances of this mission.”

“Yeah, my bad,” Shiro snaps. He still feels chilled to the bone. It's one thing to hear of what Ulaz has done, another to see it struggling to live, finding life in the worst of places. Thinking they're better off scavenging on the filth and waste of the Empire that ruined their lives, because life is so worthless here that there's no reason to care for them.

They walk in tense silence. Shiro keeps his head down as he marches home.

Ulaz speaks hesitantly, “You are upset.”

Shiro bites back a hundred sarcastic retorts. How could he _not_ be upset?

“Is it the villagers? Their rejection of your offer to help them leave?”

Shiro grits his teeth. This is a communication thing he and Ulaz have developed when the other goes nonverbal, or can't explain what's bothering them. He wants to tell Ulaz he's fine, he can sort out his emotions all on his own, but he can't find the words. He doesn't know what part he's most upset about. Shiro tries to breathe while Ulaz keeps talking.

“Is it the proximity to the Empire? The living conditions here?” Ulaz guesses. When Shiro doesn't respond he keeps running through topics.

The trees are so far away. The air is barely any fresher, but it's cooler away from the decomposing matter.

“Was it my involvement?” Ulaz asks.

Shiro stops walking. He looks up at Ulaz, into the shade of Ulaz’s hood where the lights on his mask suggest the pattern of a face, without giving away a hint of emotion.

Shiro remembers looking up at Ulaz’s face from the operating table, when he was freed. There's so many emotions mixed in with that memory, now sweetened with their relationship together.

He wonders how many aliens dream of the same image, of the face that Shiro adores, and wake up screaming.

He wonders if Ulaz thinks about them. If Ulaz had any idea the dark horrors of his own past, of what Haggar made him do, won't stay buried and instead are determined to live. To spread his awful deeds to anyone they speak with.

“I… I don't want to talk about it yet,” Shiro admits, “but are you okay?.”

Ulaz nods. He moves slowly, turning his wrist over to offer his hand to Shiro. Shiro’s not sure how he feels still, sick to his stomach, but he comes close to smiling as he sets his palm in Ulaz’s.

It's a good grounding point for Shiro's thoughts. They make their way back to the Black Lion in a much more comfortable silence.

 

* * *

 

The air is fresher in the trees. Shiro feels better by the time they catch sight of the Black Lion. The shields fall as Shiro and Ulaz approach, letting them into the safe zone near the Lion.

“Would you like to stay?” Ulaz asks as they come to a stop, “you mentioned a campfire and activities for tonight?”

Shiro's definitely not in the mood for fooling around right now, but Ulaz can usually change that for him.

“Yes,” he says, “I think… give me some time. Do _you_ want to stay?”

“I want to be with you,” Ulaz says, “though I am intrigued about what interests you in mating outdoors as compared to inside?”

“It doesn’t excite you?” Shiro asks.

“On the homeworld Galra rarely resided inside any dwelling unless it was a den for cubs,” Ulaz explains, “that’s what the texts say. So I suppose we would be paying homage to my ancestors.”

“Well probably for humans too,” Shiro scuffs his foot on the ground, “but mostly it’s the thrill of doing something that’s socially unconventional— and probably illegal, I think?”

He doesn’t mention how this forest smells different than ones on Earth, and how he’s a little homesick for the right smell. Or that Shiro can still smell the faintest whiff of the garbage dump.

Ulaz pulls off his hood, and dismisses his mask. Shiro’s happy to see his ears pop out, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones again. Ulaz blinks as his eyes adjust to the lighting, and then steps closer so he can lean in to kiss Shiro. Shiro turns his head so Ulaz gets his cheek.

“I’m gonna brush my teeth first— if we’re staying,” he explains.

“If you are comfortable with it, there are some old Galra mating positions I would like to try,” Ulaz says.

“Then we’re staying,” Shiro agrees, “lets get a fire started, I’ll be right back.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro feels like he isn’t buzzing out of his skin with unease by the time he comes out of his Lion. Ulaz had collected a few supplies from inside— some of the emergency rations to have for dinner, canteens of water, and the blankets from the survival gear. Shiro’s washed out his mouth so he feels comfortable kissing again.

It is warm on the planet, even in what must be the early part of the night. Ulaz has taken off his armor and is stripped to the waist, with his jumpsuit tied around his hips. Shiro takes a moment to run his eyes over the muscles in Ulaz’s back as he crouches and pokes at the small fire he’s made. He has a variety of scars, and some tattoos. Shiro’s spent enough time with Ulaz to be familiar with them, but he still loves the broad expanse of Ulaz’s shoulders and how his body tapers down into that thin waist.

Shiro’s not sure if they’re going to sleep outside, or inside the Lion tonight, but the plan is at least to fool around by a fire. He starts getting out of his own armor, which draws Ulaz’s attention. Between the two of them, it’s easy to get Shiro out of his gear and leave him standing in the tight sensor suit he wears under his armor for piloting.

 

* * *

 

“I never took you for an exhibitionist,” Ulaz remarks. He ducks down to lick at the hot, sore mark he’s been teasing into the skin on Shiro’s neck.

Shiro doesn’t bother to move his head, keeping his throat accessible, “Mmm, ‘m not. Not really. Only when it’s safe. We’re far from people here, very unlikely to be bothered.”

Ulaz tightens his grip on Shiro’s ass, where Shiro’s straddling his lap with his back to the fire and his legs wrapped around Ulaz’s waist. They’re both stripped to the waist.

“What was it you called me earlier?” Ulaz asks, “your… ‘wild human’?”

Shiro wrinkles his nose with a smile, “Right. My outdoorsy, rugged wildman.”

“What is that?” Ulaz runs his nose up the line of Shiro’s throat, and under his chin.

“Someone who should pin me against a tree and have their way with me,” Shiro says, “with dirty, rough hands from a hard day of chopping wood and working with nature.”

“You always want me to pin you,” Ulaz points out, and he shifts, still holding Shiro, to get onto his knees.

“But now I want you to hold me down outside,” Shiro explains, “it’s very different.”

“I see,” Ulaz says dryly, but he’s smiling. He kisses Shiro as he stands up.

Shiro laughs, despite himself, and kisses Ulaz because he can. He missed having Ulaz around— missed the feel of him, the sight and even the taste of him. It feels like no time and too much time has passed since they were last together.

“Which tree shall I pin you to?” Ulaz asks.

Shiro takes a moment to look around. The trees— mushrooms— here all have weird bark that’s soft and slimy. It’d probably chew up Shiro’s skin wherever he was pressed against it.

“Maybe against the lion tonight,” he offers.

“I suppose I’ve had worse orders,” Ulaz teases, and begins walking.

Worse orders. It’s just playful banter, but Shiro immediately thinks of the villagers in their trash town again.

Shiro feels the cool metal of the Lion at his back, and tilts his head as Ulaz presses him against it and sucks at his throat again.

Ulaz _has_ had worse orders. And was forced to follow them.

Ulaz pulls back when Shiro doesn’t respond, and looks up at him worriedly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Shiro nods minutely, “Yeah. I, uh, I was just thinking— I’m sorry for what you had to go through. With Haggar ordering you to hurt those people. I wanted you to know that I forgive you. I know you had to, and that it wasn’t easy. But you don’t have to carry that guilt.”

“Thank you,” Ulaz says softly.

Shiro scrubs a hand down his face, “Oh, god, sorry. I totally killed the mood.”

“You could never prevent me from wanting you,” Ulaz assures him, “but your worries are in vain. Haggar did not order me to harm anyone we saw today. She never had interest in goal-less experimentation.”

Ulaz kisses him and, relieved, Shiro kisses back.

“Who was it?” Shiro asks when they break for air, “unless I’m asking too much…”

Ulaz rubs their noses together affectionately, “It’s alright. No one ordered me.”

Ulaz kisses him again as Shiro takes in the new information. No one ordered Ulaz to experiment on and torture those prisoners.

Shiro pushes Ulaz back, “No one?”

“No one,” Ulaz confirms.

“But they— they said it was you. Who nearly killed them,” Shiro says.

He’s missing something. Why isn’t this making sense.

“They are correct, I believe. I do not remember all of them,” Ulaz admits.

Shiro's still thinking. Ulaz can see it on his face and waits patiently.

“What's bothering you?” He asks.

“No one ordered you to hurt those people?” Shiro thinks out loud, inquiring Ulaz to answer the question he doesn't know how to ask.

“When I began my mission, I was an unknown. Of course I had falsified references and credentials, but I had no network to bring myself to Haggar’s attention,” Ulaz explains slowly, “I needed to build a reputation that would entice her to recruit me, and quickly. I catered to her interests, and waited until she contacted me. That's when we met.”

Shiro knows that Ulaz’s mission was to get information on what weaponry and dangers the Galra were developing— which meant getting close to the Druids, to Haggar. He hasn't heard this part of the story before.

“By build a reputation, you mean…” Shiro trails off, for Ulaz to continue.

“The scavengers in the garbage,” Ulaz says. He seems surprised that Shiro needs this explained, “my goal was to come across as a creative mind, with talents and skills that Haggar needed, but without direction or agenda. She would feel powerful in giving me purpose, and would let me into her inner circle.”

“You chose to do that,” Shiro realizes, “to all of those people.”

“Yes,” Ulaz says, “it was a necessary evil, for the mission.”

“You chose to…” Shiro trails off.

Did he know that? Does he know this? No, he doesn't remember, doesn't know if there's anything to remember.

Shiro has the faintest reflection of cold cells, dark and isolating. Of fearful whispers and a single pair of footsteps echoing loudly as they move down the hall looking for the next victim.

Before Ulaz’s reputation had come to Haggar’s ears, he’d built up a fearsome one amongst the prisoners.

Shiro might recall that it was better to be Haggar’s plaything. It meant you were wanted, important, desirable. She would try not to kill you.

If the doctor— The Butcher— came for you, you often did not return. Or you returned to the prisons, mutilated and reshaped as if he was playing god and you were his new creation.

Shiro thinks he might remember that. He might remember an alien in the opposite cell having been returned, staples and tight stitches holding together the wound where he’d been opened and the Butcher had moved all of his organs around, playing like he was something to be taken apart and pieced back together. Maybe he'd been put back together wrong, maybe it was intentional.

Shiro does remember listening to that alien dying. He hasn’t had context for those wheezing, whimpering sobs as the alien begged for death, to end his pain, and his cell mates obliged.

Shiro has context now.

Ulaz had chosen to do that. No one ordered him to.

“Shiro?” Ulaz inquires softly.

“Put me down,” Shiro orders.

Ulaz obeys without question. Shiro sags against the Black Lion. Ulaz is standing close, but not touching him. He knows Shiro doesn't like to be touched unless he asks for it.

“What's wrong,” Ulaz asks gently. He's always so gentle with Shiro, so understanding.

Ulaz _chose_ to torture all of those aliens to death. And the village is just made up of those that survived. They are the rare exceptions— most of them died.

“You chose to hurt those people,” Shiro says, numb.

Ulaz narrows his eyes, and his ears twitch as he thinks, “Yes,” he says slowly, “I had to.”

“No one forced you to,” Shiro stares down at his feet. His heart is hammering in his chest.

“Shiro, I don’t understand. You’re repeating yourself,” Ulaz says, “are you alright? Do you need to sit down?”

Shiro feels Ulaz’s warm hand on his shoulder, a soft comforting touch that he’s leaned into hundreds of times. He slaps Ulaz’s hand away as he stands up.

Shiro’s thinking of the times Ulaz must have used that hand to pin down helpless, terrified prisoners on his operating table as he started cutting into them.

“You hurt them!” Shiro shouts, and he points back towards the village, “all of them! And you didn’t have to!”

“The mission required it,” Ulaz says, holding his hands out in a non-threatening gesture, “I told you, I needed Haggar to come to me.”

“So you tortured them. Hundreds of scared, defenseless prisoners. You mutilated them! For what? Fun?”

“You’re upset,” Ulaz realizes, “why?”

“I could have been one of them,” Shiro snaps, “begging for mercy while you cut me up and left me to die.”

“No,” Ulaz assures him, completely certain, “you were never in danger. You were a high-profile Arena fighter. I only used those the Empire had deemed useless.”

“So children,” Shiro spits out, thinking of everyone he’d seen in the village, “elderly, the sick. Anyone who wasn’t good enough for work camps, for labor or fighting.”

“Yes,” Ulaz agrees, “that was the criteria.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Shiro shouts, “you’re calling these people ‘useless’! You treated them like animals— even worse than that!”

Ulaz is quiet a moment, nothing to say in his own defense, “Shiro,” he says, voice low and even like he’s the rational one here, “you said you forgave me.”

With a past as awful and muddy as theirs, forgiveness means a clean slate for them. They had to agree that to forgive each other it meant they had to let it go.

“I forgave you working under orders,” Shiro growls, “because I never thought you were capable of being a monster.”

Ulaz’s ears fold back. He’s angry now.

“You’re upset and letting your emotions speak for you,” Ulaz says, “we should return to the Castle before you say anything else you’ll regret.”

“I have every right to be upset!” Shiro steps forwards, getting into Ulaz’s space. Ulaz doesn’t step back from the challenge, tilting his chin down to meet Shiro’s gaze. Shiro sees the twitch in his lips that means Ulaz is fighting back the urge to snarl at him.

“They called you the Butcher! I always thought you had to do bad things to survive— but not that you liked it!”

“I never _liked_ it,” Ulaz growls.

“You let me believe you were good, honorable. You _lied_ to me!” Shiro says. He feels like his whole body is shaking. He’s ready to fight, to flee, to do _something_ but he stays rooted to the spot.

Ulaz’s eyes flash dangerously in the fading light, “You are acting like you have the moral high ground in this. We both had to resort to violence to survive. Whatever it takes, that’s what you and I are capable of. That’s what makes us so similar.”

“No,” Shiro shakes his head furiously, “don’t you _dare_ try to twist this on me. Whatever I did in the Arena, whoever I hurt, I did that with a knife to my throat. I didn’t have a choice! But you! You had the knife in your hand! You _chose_ to hurt people and you _chose_ to keep doing that! And you went after children! You went after families and innocent, helpless people!”

“It was the only way,” Ulaz says.

“It wasn’t,” Shiro says coldly, “but it was what you were willing to do.”

Ulaz lets his shoulders drop, and he starts to reach for Shiro, and then stops himself, “Shiro if you would just understand— I’m not _proud_ of it. Of what I did. But the mission came first. Besides, if I hadn’t done that, we would have never met.”

Shiro takes a step back, “Do you think that justifies it?”

Ulaz sighs in frustration, “What is it that you want to hear from me? An apology? Do you wish me to grovel and beg for your forgiveness?”

“You’re sick!” Shiro shouts, “You can’t hear how fucked up this is! I don’t know who you are!”

Ulaz reaches forwards, trying to take Shiro’s hand in his own, “I never meant to upset you—”

Shiro feels sick to his stomach and yanks his hand away, “Don’t touch me!”

There’s a deafening sound of metal grinding and gears spinning, almost like a roar, as the Black Lion turns her head to stare down at them, eyes lit up like supernovas. Her threat is very clear.

Ulaz takes a nervous step back.

Shiro’s pants with exertion, like he’s run a marathon. Ulaz looks between the protective Lion snarling down at him, and her distressed pilot glaring at him. He doesn’t move.

Shiro scrubs a hand over his face, wiping away the tears that have been building up, “Get us packed up. We’re leaving,” he orders.

Ulaz nods slowly, “Are you sure—”

“Don’t talk to me,” Shiro snaps, “part of me thinks I should go to the village and tell them who you are. And leave you here.”

Ulaz nods slowly, and steps back.

He pauses a moment, “Shiro,” he says softly, “I love you.”

Shiro doesn’t look at him. After a moment, he hears Ulaz’s footsteps retreat as he goes to pack up their camp.

Shiro sits back against the Black Lion’s massive paw. He can feel her power humming through her body, and it feels grounding.

He’s shaking, and the tears won’t stop no matter how hard he wipes them away.

Ulaz is a monster. He’s a horrible, terrible person who tortured so many aliens to death because he thought it was the fastest way to complete his mission. He thought that was an acceptable sacrifice. He loves Shiro.

And Shiro loves him.

It’s not even a question. He absolutely, irrevocably still loves him.

What does that say about Shiro? That after everything he saw in the village, everything he remembers and everything Ulaz told him— Shiro loves him. Had nearly said it back.

Shiro’s horrified to realize that he wants to forgive Ulaz this. He still wants Ulaz at his side, he still wants their easy camaraderie and deep bond.

How can Shiro be a Paladin if he can forgive what Ulaz did. Can he forgive Ulaz? Can he ever look at him again without seeing a sadist? Without seeing The Butcher? He wants to, but is it possible? Should it be possible?

It’s a lot of questions.

Shiro’s not sure he has any answers.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tied To A Railroad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14329581) by [valkyriered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyriered/pseuds/valkyriered)




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